Welcome to the Mt. Whitney Climbing Ranch

I'll sing you a story about Betsy from Pike,

Who climbed the big mountain with her lover Ike.

With a rope made of nylon and a hand full of slings,

Six rusty pitons and a can of sardines.

We said good-bye to the valley so fair,

We climb the big mountain because it is there. 

Ike surveyed the big mountain and quickly picked out,

Its most terrifying precipitous route.

They got up three pitches then Ike went to see,

Betsy my darlin do you want to lead.

She lead like an angle out onto the face,

While Ike stood there admiring her form and her grace.

She reached for a hand hold but the hand let go,

She fell with the hand hold to the valley below.

Now she came to a halt with the greatest of ease,

All tangled up in a clump of small trees.

Ike called to Betsy so young and so fair,

The language you're using is curling my hair.

Now that night they bivouac out on the ledge,

Their backs to the wall there feet to the edge.

Ike said to Betsy a night with you long have I pined,

But this isn't really what I had in mind.

The next morning the rock looked so hold-less and bare,

Ike wondered what they were doing up there.

Lets go up the back way it's only Class II,

Says Betsy  you'll go by yourself if you do.

So they climbed up a chimney at breath taking pace,

When it ran out they moved out onto the face.

With lie backs and jam cracks and mantles beside,

They sat on the summit and swore at the guide.

Now there is no moral to this little song,

Its only ample value is being too long.

For this song was written just to kill time,

While driving four hours for a one hour climb.